


And if you need a little sunshine you can borrow some of mine

by agent_orange



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Fingering, Character(s) of Color, Cunnilingus, Domestic, F/M, M/M, Morning After, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘Let him sleep, Alexander,’” he mocks. “Can you stay quiet, Eliza?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And if you need a little sunshine you can borrow some of mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Go bid the waves be still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090510) by [agent_orange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange). 



Fast asleep, Eliza stirs awake when something skitters across her calf—she fears that a mouse has gotten inside, seeking shelter from the cold. But when she rubs at her eyes, flicking away the sleep, she sees that Alexander is curled towards the bed’s foot, has rucked up the bedcovers and is running his fingers up her legs, mouth not far behind.

“Good morning, beloved,” Alexander says into her kneecap, and the vibrations there nearly trigger her reflex to kick. He pins her ankle down just in time. “I trust you slept soundly?”

“John kept me warm while you were furiously writing.” Eliza draws one leg up slightly, lifting the covers so she can look down at Alexander’s eyes. “I know you waited hours to come back and sleep.”

Just one reason why she loves him: Eliza is beginning to fully understand Alexander, and she watches him fabricate a lie— _I wasn’t tired!_ —before admitting the truth.

Alexander shifts, breath warm on Eliza’s thigh when he replies, “Couldn’t spare a second. Proposing a plan to General Washington for my command of a battalion.”

Teasing, voice gentle enough to keep him from getting defensive, she says, “No doubt your twenty-fifth proposal will change his mind, and you’ll convince him in person soon enough. I had John’s warmth last night, but I missed you.” She glances to the side to find that John is, indeed, still asleep, looking even younger now that his face has been wiped clean of dirt.

“Let him be,” she tells her husband, who’d much prefer Laurens awake than incapacitated. “Surely you can entertain yourself a bit longer without him.” It’s only a few seconds before Eliza feels two of Alexander’s fingers sliding into her, infinitesimally slow.

She just knows he’s smirking as he says _naturally_ , thumb skimming over her clitoris. The lack of pressure there makes her whine, and Alexander scolds her for making noise, sharply curling his two fingers just so. She bites her lip.

“‘Let him sleep, Alexander,’” he mocks. “Can you stay quiet, Eliza?” A beat passes, and before she can nod or force words out, his lips brush her folds. And at this, he is excellent, no different from his skills in arguing or writing.

Eliza is lucky, so grateful. Angelica has told her, curled up together in bed after too much champagne and socializing with Daddy’s friends, that most men turn up their noses at the idea of putting their face between a woman’s legs. Alexander has already proved that he loves this, that he can't get enough.

“You taste _exquisite_ ,” he'd said after the first time he’d done it, and she had meant for them to save that until their marriage. But Alexander's powers of persuasion are unmatched, and after some convincing, Eliza had let him see her with the candles still lit. She’d understood why he was so eager to put his mouth on her, and she was even swayed to let him kiss her straight after. But his enthusiasm never fails to please her, and she looks down, sees his dark head ducked over her, hard at work.

The covers are nearly all piled on top of John now, and Eliza brushes Alexander’s hair out of his eyes, curling a few pieces in her fingers. She can help pace him this way, keep his speed reasonable instead of breakneck. He presses his tongue against her, licks her outside and finally darts inside as he removes his fingers. Eliza grabs his left hand, holds it firm as his tongue draws circles across her.

Eliza tastes copper, realizing she’s bitten down on her lip, and lets out a sound, half pleasure, half pain. Another hand touches her mouth, dabbing the blood away—John's. He's woken. For a moment, Eliza fears he will bolt from the bedroom, dash down the stairs and out of the house, given the slight panic in his eyes. When Alexander's fingers push into her again, quite hard this time, she flails a little, doing her best to pat John's hand.

John looks at Alexander, back at her, pauses. She notices the way he licks his lips and clears his throat before speaking, voice still sleep-hoarse.

“I...could I?” John asks. “If you’d both allow me to, I mean, I don’t—”

Alexander stops everything, half-grinning contentedly when Eliza calls out _oh, you ass!_ Sometime, not now, Eliza resolves to speak to him, tell him smugness does not become a man with his power.

“For once, John, I have no idea how to go about this. But you will not ruin it by asking for things; that’s the only way to determine how best to share,” Alexander reassures him. They share some kind of meaningful look, a long kiss. John ruffles Alexander’s hair, still sleep-mussed (and wild from Eliza’s hands curling in it) and she speaks up.

“One of you, just do _something_. I swear, officers and their cautiousness would let the whole world start to crumble before—”

She’s unable to finish her thought. John is licking her now, so different from how Alexander does it. He’s slow and methodical, taking his time to learn what she likes, see how she reacts when he uses the barest hint of teeth on her, when he sucks her clitoris into his mouth. It’s pleasing, exploring new sensations at the same time John does.

John uses his hands, too, fingers holding her open, giving his tongue better access. Eliza tries to squirm away—she feels her wetness dripping out of her, onto the topsheet and her own thighs, but Alexander takes hold of her wrists, keeping her in place. He’s by her side now, kissing her despite their foul breath.

“Shhhh, it’s natural, we’ve seen far worse on the battlefield,” he soothes. John’s head bobs up and down in what Eliza supposes is an approximation of a nod. When he shifts, she fully presses against his face, legs draped over his shoulders, and she has to concur that now is not the time for modesty.

John licks at her with flat of his tongue, bottom to top, and Eliza can’t help it. She lets out an undainty squeal. Alexander props a few pillows behind her back and she kisses him in reward until she has to stop and breathe. She has a few moments of slow-building bliss before she senses a set of eyes on her.

Sure enough, Alexander is watching her (and John), dark eyes bright with an emotion Eliza cannot quite place—perhaps pride? He strokes himself, fist moving messily and she barely has the coordination, let alone command of mind, to lace her fingers over his. She meets his eyes, hoping he does not begrudge her distracted half-heartedness. John is moving more quickly and his fingers are so nimble, feeling what she wants and giving it to her until she breaks, giving in to the pleasure.

“John,” she sighs, though in her ears her own voice seems little more than a whisper. "Alex—"

—Is watching, rapt. A thought, improper, materializes in Eliza’s mind, somehow: would General Washington himself be able to tear her husband away right now? It’s not a difficult one to dismiss, as the pace of John’s tongue, his fingers, on her remain unchanged. The sensitivity pushes the border of pain now, and when his fingers nudge into her again she can focus on that instead. A moment passes, or perhaps more, and John’s brought her over the edge again, so wonderful that her body shakes from the exertion until Alexander wraps his arms around her, and John drapes the thick coverlet over her.

“ _Well_ ,” is all Eliza can say. Gently, she leans down as John crawls up the bed toward them and she cups his chin. She takes her time kissing him, seeing how she tastes in his mouth. He is hard against her thigh, and burning hot; she touches him with more deliberateness than she could with Alexander. “You _never_ have to ask permission to do that, John.”

If her ears do not deceive her, she hears Alexander growl a bit. He says, “Get your own wife, John,” and clumsily moves himself over her to drop his weight onto John, who grunts.

John laughs in return, playfully shoving at him. “Hamilton, you’ve always said that what’s yours is what’s mine, too,” he replies, which earns him a light slap along his ribs.

His skin displays the bones. (Eliza will insist on a hearty breakfast—if they ever manage to leave the bed.)

She has another chance to watch them together, and they have changed overnight.

Alexander is much softer now, hips moving on top of John’s in a slow, stuttering rhythm. Eliza spots a flash of pink as Alexander’s tongue slips into John’s mouth. He’s so focused, and she sees his eyes close, knows he’s experiencing this fully without the frantic energy of their reunion.

Eliza notices how equally-matched they are: both wrestle for dominance and neither has a clear advantage. Alexander is dark and John is light, and they are nearly the same size, but John has a certain hardness to him that her husband lacks. She blinks, and John flips Alexander over with a swipe of his leg, setting a faster pace.

His mouth moves to Alexander’s ear, nipping it before saying, “Just _wait_.” As the sound of skin on skin grows louder, so does John’s breathing. She can hear his _ahhhs_ into Alexander’s neck, and he shoves forward once more. The poor thing hardly has a moment to catch his breath before Alexander is grunting, “Off, you’re heavy, I mean it, you—”

Eliza’s covered his mouth. “Come, now. He’s hardly fit to fight, he’s so thin,” she says. “Alexander, you must sleep more. John, talk some sense into him? Tell him how snippy he becomes when he does not sleep.”

John shifts off him, smiling. “By tonight, he’ll be too exhausted to write, let alone argue.” The he presses two spit-slick fingers into Alexander. Eliza strokes him now, tight, how he likes it. A hidden twist of John’s hand causes Alexander to make some beautiful noise she’s never heard out of him before, and she files the technique away for future use.

“God _dammit_ , John, at least let me keep my pride,” Alexander says. But John, bless him, does no such thing. Alexander pushes back down onto his fingers and then up into Eliza’s hand, over and over, pulse quickening. Sunlight’s pouring in from the window and lights up his skin. Eliza is breathless at the sight of him. She kisses him hard, how John does it, and then John.

Alexander’s muscles tense. The crown of his head dents the pillow with his movements, and he finds his own climax strung up between their hands. _Perhaps he_ will _sleep tonight_ , Eliza thinks.

John glances at the floor, searching, and picks up a stray rag to wipe his fingers. Wipes Eliza’s carefully, one by one, and a spark jolts up her spine. His mouth never stops—he bends and starts licking Alexander clean, and Eliza joins him, erasing evidence of the mess they made.

He moans, arching into the touch, though his peace does not last long.

“I barely touched you,” Alexander grumbles. How he has half a mind to complain right now is beyond Eliza; she says so, and he knows he’s caught. But he touches her again, still wet from earlier.

“You’re never satisfied. Just…soft,” Eliza says. She has to pull his fingers back, she’s too sensitive and he too determined. “Like this.” But he can be taught, just one thumb brushing over her. John’s planting kisses up and down her bare side, the sun warming their bodies as he glances between the two of them. She’s surprised by Alexander’s fingers trying to work inside her.

“No, too much, I can’t—” a callus on his thumb catches on her clitoris, and she’s surprised by another burst of pleasure, much smaller than the first two, and still almost too intense to bear. “ _Christ_ ,” she says, all self-control long gone.

When she opens her eyes again, Alexander and John are both smiling at her.

“Alexander, this one is special,” John says, grinning. “Your letters did not do her justice.”

Her boys. Eliza wishes they could stay forever. But she swallows the lump in her throat.

“You two need a washing up,” she declares. “And we all need some food.”


End file.
